Archery Lessons
by Bell the Scribe
Summary: Hawke always knows exactly what she wants, and she always takes the most direct path to get it. So why is she taking archery lessons from Sebastian? F!Rogue/Sebastian, pure fluff. Commentary courtesy Varric and Merrill.


"Didn't you offer Hawke archery lessons before, Varric?" Merrill asked, sitting on the edge of a low, stacked-stone wall. Her attention was only briefly diverted by the dwarf at her side, most of it occupied by the pair in the middle of the clearing. Sebastian Vael and Shey Hawke were setting up targets in order to practice the use of a bow.

"I did, Daisy, I did." Varric chuckled, leaning against the wall, his head level with the elf's knees. "I suspect, however," he mused as the two humans moved across the field, "that the fine art of archery is not first and foremost on our fearless leader's mind."

"What do you mean?" Merrill asked, green eyes sparkling with new interest. "Why else would she—" with a look from Varric, the confusion cleared rapidly. "Oh! Oh, how adorable!" Her squeal was punctuated by her kicking out her feet in excitement. "They are so, so cute!" Her enthusiasm dimmed a bit momentarily, though. "But…wait. That doesn't seem right at all."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Why would that be?"

"Hawke is just so…so…_bold_ and _direct_." Merrill's eyes went to the woman in contention. "She just tells people what she wants and she gets it. She points at them and just _growls_ and she doesn't settle for anything less. If she…_liked_Sebastian, we would know." Hesitation made her pause. "…Wouldn't we?"

"Infatuation makes you do crazy things, Daisy." Varric shrugged. The cloak-and-dagger Hawke seemed to be having some difficulty stringing her bow.

"I suppose." Merrill conceded. "Can you imagine, though, if she did?" The elf crossed her arms and pitched her voice lower in order to mimic Hawke. "You!" She pointed imperiously, other hand on her hip. "We are going to kiss! And other dirty things!" She couldn't manage it for too long, however, before she broke down giggling. Varric laughed.

"I don't know how well Choir Boy would take that." He gestured at the pair, who were finally rising to actually aim at the targets. "I think he'd spook. For all he told Isabela that he used to have a wild past, he's painfully oblivious and too damn well-meaning now. Hawke picked a truly lost cause."

"I think it's romantic. Though I never really understood why the Chantry would have their clergy swear something so impractical as chastity. You would think they would want to breed as many devout little Andrastians as possible." Merrill winced as Hawke's shot went wide. "She's not very good at this."

"Ha! That would be something to see. Instead of vows of chastity, they would have vows of promiscuity." Varric put on his storytelling voice, volume a little lower than normal simply so those in the meadow wouldn't overhear. "They'd have a baby quota, penance would include trips to the Blooming Rose…"

"I like the sound of this Chantry much better." Merrill agreed. "Perhaps we should suggest it to Sebastian."

"Perhaps we should." Varric agreed, grin gone wicked.

* * *

><p><em>Maker preserve me<em>. Shey Hawke prayed silently, immediately wincing. Probably she shouldn't pray to the Maker if she was desperately hoping the man next to her would deny his vows to Him and kiss her senseless in the grass. Because that would be really nice right about now.

The pair were dressed down for the occasion, both in linens and light practice leathers. It was perhaps the first time she had seen the Prince of Starkhaven without his oddly asymmetrical armor on, and it was distracting her almost as much as her own thoughts.

Shey knew her skills in archery were horrible. She was a terrible archer. Her time spent in King Caillan's army had included the master bowman throwing his hands up in despair and telling her to stick to pigstickers. It had been horribly embarrassing, and she'd vowed to never touch a bow again.

See? She had broken her vows for _him_. He could certainly return the favor! Shey resisted the urge to pout.

"You need to slow your breathing, Hawke." Sebastian's smooth brogue cut through her distracted thoughts. "Unsteady breath makes for an unsteady bow, and ruins the shot." He was patiently, obliviously coaching her through everything, from stringing a bow to drawing and lining up her arrow. So far, she'd failed perhaps even more miserably than the times before.

"Only time you have to worry about breathing with daggers is to make sure the person you stabbed isn't doing it, and you still are." She muttered crossly. He laughed, and her stomach did a funny little knotted flip-flop.

"But what about when you are in the shadows? Certainly you don't want your breathing to give away your position." Sebastian continued on gamely. Shey conceded he had a point. "Here, let me help you."

His hands on her stomach and back caused her a jolt of surprise, as he straightened her posture. "Until you have the breathing down, try not to crouch so much. Clear pathways, smooth breathing." The hands were gone, then, and she tried not to pout over _that_as well.

Maker, what was wrong with her? She should have just said something from the beginning. Somehow, though, she knew her normal direct, blunt approach would not be the best tactic to engage the devout brother. Especially if she wanted him to woo her. She thought she would have liked to be wooed. All the boys in Lothering had been scared shitless of her, and then the men in the army had all come to the conclusion that the rogue was 'one of the boys.'

Was it too much to ask to be wooed? Swept off her feet? Courted?

Of course, it was perhaps her own damn fault, seeing as how she had to call dibs on the one man who was not even allowed to be interested in such things. She was an idiot. And demanding to be wooed by scooping a fistful of a man's shirt and using a threatening tone was not likely to improve the situation.

"Hawke? Are you paying attention?"

Shey straightened up immediately, face flushed pink. _Stop it! No blushing!_ "Yes. Of course. I'm just frustrated as all." _Very. Very. Frustrated_.

Sebastian smiled at her knowingly. "I understand. It took me a long while to learn the breathing, myself. It was perhaps the only thing I cultivated any patience for before being given to the Chantry."

"Right." Shey tried not to think too much about the snippets she'd overheard about Sebastian's youthful glory days, when Princes weren't meant for chastity and she _could_ have just walked up to him and demanded his attention. It would have been so much more practical than all this 'archery lesson' bullshit. She didn't want to be an archer, she just wanted _this archer_.

Though, in all fairness, there was nothing practical about the way she was feeling, which was on one hand wonderful and on the other, completely irritating.

* * *

><p>"I wonder why she likes him." Merrill mused out loud. Varric grinned.<p>

"Oh, that's easy, Daisy. It's because she can't have him." The dwarf gestured dramatically, mimicking the same moves Merrill had made before in her imitation of Hawke. "You said it yourself; she always gets what she wants. But now, she can't have this, and she can't demand it, so she _wants it_. And not getting it is driving her crazy."

"When you say 'it,' do you mean Sebastian, or just…sex…with Sebastian?" Merrill asked. "Because, well, I don't understand his vows or the purpose behind them, but wouldn't it be worse if he broke them for someone who wasn't going to be interested afterward, because she got what she wanted?"

"I don't think our Hawke's that cruel, don't worry. Though I have a nice bet going with Rivaini on when she cracks. Care to join in?"

Merrill dug around in her pocket for her money. Fishing out a sovereign, she handed it over to the dwarf. "Next Tuesday." Shey Hawke was not known for being a patient woman. That was certainly being generous.

"Next Tuesday it is. Closest gets the pot." Varric laughed. "I'll have to see about getting Broody, Blondie and Aveline to chip in." He paused, a wicked grin on his face. "Maybe even Choir Boy."

"How would you do _that_?" Merrill asked, astonished. "Wouldn't he know then? I wouldn't envy you if Hawke found out…"

"All the better. But it's all right, Daisy. I'm good at lying." He winked at her. "Would make a spectacular punchline to the debacle if he ended up winning."

* * *

><p>Shey bit back a rather colorful string of curses formulating in her mind as another shot went wide. She hated bloody archery, she hated sodding arrows, and she <em>especially hated<em> the gently smiling asshole next to her who commented that her aim was slightly better but if he could just—

Oh. Oh, well, this was nice.

Sebastian stood behind her, pressed right up against her back, his arms guiding hers. It was deliciously warm and Shey felt her face heat up. Strong hands, a steadying presence, and his light laughter as he told her to _breathe_, and his face _so close_…

"Really, Hawke. Breathe." His voice intruded rather rudely upon her sudden daydreams, but she obeyed. But the arrow slipped a notch and the aim was so ruined that the shot dug itself into the ground so far from the mark that she might as well have been aiming backwards.

She cursed, broke away from him, and threw the bow on the ground angrily. Sebastian watched her temper tantrum with mild amusement. "It takes time, Hawke, and patience. You aren't hopeless, by any means."

"Of course I'm not hopeless. I have my daggers." She muttered as she stalked away, back towards the dwarf and elf. This was _just _a tactical retreat. She was not flustered, she was in control, and she was _not_at all discomfited by how close they had been moments ago.

"Does that mean you don't wish to continue lessons?" Maker take him, he was laughing at her, she was sure of it. Behind that accommodating expression, delicious voice and easy-going smile, he was _laughing at her_.

"I…" She wanted to say she would never touch a bow again. She wanted to _vow_never to touch a bow again, as she had before. But she was so tired of vows. Especially unbroken ones. "I could try again, I suppose. Some other time."

"Perfect!" Varric cut in as the pair arrived. "I'm sure Choir Boy has far too much to do, being a brother and an exiled prince all at once. I can take over."

Shey shot him a look that was nothing short of murderous. The dwarf greeted it with an unflappable smirk.

"Oh, no, I'm not too busy at all." Sebastian protested.

"Do you have a preference, Hawke?" Varric raised an eyebrow, and she _knew_ that he _knew _and _to the Void with_ _him_! And Merrill was giggling! No giggling!

"I don't use a crossbow." She managed. It was weak even to her ears. "So, if he is not too busy, then Sebastian would likely be the better teacher."

"Sounds good to me!" Varric cut in before Sebastian could respond. "Tomorrow, then, I think there's no daring deeds to be done or kittens to be rescued, damsels to be guarded or dragons to tame. Sounds like a date." He practically verbally pushed them together, and Shey shot him such a murderous look.

She was too focused on being irritated to correct the dwarf's vocabulary choice, or to notice that Sebastian didn't, either.

* * *

><p><em>So, this fluff has been rattling around in my brain for a long while. Which is weird, because I normally don't <strong>do<strong> fluff. I hope it's all right, for what it is. Which is nothing (the definition of fluff)._

_I love Sebastian to pieces. 3  
><em>


End file.
